


Dancing Lessons

by FenHarelsPride (Andauril)



Series: Siryn Lavellan [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Pre-Halamshiral, elfy elves talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3843283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andauril/pseuds/FenHarelsPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She spun around. It was so much easier with bare feet. Natural. For a moment, it felt like she was dancing with her people. And, in a way – her gaze met Solas’s – it was. He had no vallaslin and he wasn’t Dalish, but it didn’t matter. One did not need vallaslin to be a true elf. He was a part of her.</p><p>***</p><p>Much to her dismay, Lavellan has to take dancing lessons in prepration for the Great Masquerade. It becomes more pleasant, however,  when Solas offers to help her learn the steps ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing Lessons

Siryn had always loved dancing. She loved the pulse of the drums, the stumping and clapping and jumping and whirling, the singing. Dancing was freeing herself, letting go, telling a story.

At least, it had been with the Dalish.

She pursed her lips as the grip of the dancing instructor around her hip tightened.

“Remember! Keep your spine straight, move with grace!”

Siryn resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him or step him on his feet on purpose. They had all but emptied the main hall to allow her to practice, but she could almost physically feel Vivienne’s eyes lurking from above, watching her every move.

The last thing she wanted was to reveal any weakness to the former Senior Enchanter when the woman was already preying on it. Since Siryn had repaid Vivienne for clearing her quarters with shrinking a number of her robes in laundry, her relationship to the other mage was even more strained and poisoned than usual …

Two steps forward, bowing, two steps to the side until only their fingertips met … spinning … to steps to the other side, half turning, bowing, one step back. Siryn watched her steps painfully. She could almost hear Josephine’s words from weeks ago.

 _“Inquisitor, it is most important that you learn how to present yourself at court. Every of your movements and gestures will be closely watched_ ”, had she said. _“Everything you say and do will be reflected on the Inquisition.”_

Never before she had needed to be _representable._ To memorize all the steps, the movements, all the while keeping in mind to look like a lady, like she had been doing this for years and not mere weeks … She could find out why the _shemlen_ thought of these dances as appealing. They were like carefully executed ceremonies, each step and movement measured and planned.

She almost dripped over the seam of her dress. Two steps forward, bowing, one step to the side … Or had it been two? Siryn paused. She wasn’t sure anymore.

At arm’s length, her dancing instructor sighed, rolling his eyes behind the fancy orlesian mask at her. “No, no! Two steps, it’s always two steps, and never pause, never stop! And you completely lost the measure! Again! We start from the beginning!”

Siryn nodded, a little more sharply when she had intended, and resumed her position.

Two steps forward, bowing, to steps to the side. The fiddler played the composition slow, and she steps two steps to the side, almost dripping on her heels. Her feet were already aching from hours of dancing in unusual _shemlen_ shoes, which sole purpose it was to look make the feed look ridiculous … The spinning was even more difficult with those shoes when merely walking … More than one she’d twisted her ankle trying it. This time, gladly, she managed it without losing her balance. To steps to the other side, to close her distance to her dancing partner … She turned to look and bow at him …

“To fast! Remember, my Lady Inquisitor, you have to move with grace!”

He held out his hand, and she grabbed it, and they turned around each other, changing positions.

“Keep your spine straight! Chin uplifted, shoulders back!”

“I assure you, I’m trying.” It came out as more of a hiss. She was not used to wear a dress nor high heeled _shemle_ n shows, and she had practiced all these stupid Orlesian dances the whole morning till noon.

Two steps forword, bowing at each other, two steps to the side …

It was not until the spinning that she noticed that they weren’t alone at the Main Hall anymore. Solas stood at the door; seemingly he had just entered from the courtyard. He watched her silently, hands clasped behind his back but with a tiny smile upon his lips, almost too subtle to notice.

She forced herself to focus on the dancing instructor, mirroring his steps as best as she could, and wished she could move with as much confidence and grace as she wanted. Instead, she stepped onto his toes. Twice.

The Orlesian winced and shot her an annoyed glance. “No, no, no! Graceful, Inquisitor Lavellan. Graceful! You are the Herold of Andraste, you should present yourself with dignity! This wouldn’t have happened if you had stayed in time!”

“Maybe your _shemlen_ feet are just too large!?” She snapped.

It came out far as more vicious than she had intended, but she had enough. She’d been trying for weeks to learn to dance like an Orlesian, but she wasn’t Orlesian and would never be.

“My lady Inquisitor …”

“I’m trying! And all you’ve got for me is ‘ _move with grace’_! If you can’t teach me, maybe you should move your arse gracefully out of here!”

“I’m the best dancing instructor in all Val Royeaux. With all due respect, if I can’t teach you how to dance like a proper lady, I doubt anyone could!”

“Inquisitor?”

It was Solas’s voice, to her surprise, and she turned to him. “Yes?”, she asked a little more heatedly than she had wanted.

“Take off your shoes.”

“What? I mean, yes, every time but … why?”

“You are not used to dance in shoes of human making. They limit your ability to feel ground beneath your feet and move naturally.”

“I highly doubt you know more of dancing than I”, objected the dancing instructor, casting a dismissive look over to Solas, with his eyes narrowed behind the mask. Siryn was almost sure that he wrinkled his nose.

“Most certainly not, but I know the Inquisitor. Allow me to make my own fumbling attempt on assisting her. I am fairly certain it will not compromise your efforts.” If Solas was offended by the way the Orlesian spoke to him, he did not show a sign of it.

Siryn, sighing in relief, slipped out of her high heeled _shemlen_ shoes. It felt could to have the ground underneath the soles of her feet again, to feel the cool stone, the fine fissures and calks.

“May I?” It took her one moment to realize that he wasn’t speaking to the dancing instructor anymore, but to her.

“I didn’t know you dance, Solas!”

“I usually have little opportunity thereto.”

She raised one eyebrow, taking his hand and allowed him to lay his finger to her waist. At least he wouldn’t tell her to “move with grace”, even if she doubted that bare feet and Solas alone would help her to become a better dancer …

At least she felt more comfortable now. Way more comfortable.

“I can imagine”, she answered. Two steps forward.

“I never thought of you as a bad dancer, _vhenan_. I remember you dancing quite elegantly when we travelled to the Dalish clan in the _Dirthavaren._ ”

They bowed. “Dalish dances are different. But I guess we won’t see any Dalish dances at the Orlesian court … Imagine the scandal!”

Solas chuckled ever so slightly. “Are you looking forward to it? Halamshiral is the lost capital of the Dales, as I recall.”

“I’m not sure …” Two steps to the side. “It _is_ the lost capital of the Dales, but now it’s full of _shemlen_ … a content reminder that we’ve lost it. I’m not sure if I should be anxious or exited. I know, for you it’s only a fumbling attempt to recreate the glory of Arlathan, but it means so much for us. It means that our people had finally a home, a place where they’d belonged to.”

She spun around. It was so much easier with bare feet. Natural. For a moment, it felt like she was dancing with her people. And, in a way – her gaze met Solas’s – it was. He had no vallaslin and he wasn’t Dalish, but it didn’t matter. One did not need vallaslin to be a true elf. He was a part of her.

“Your people crave a home, a notion I can understand very well. Yet Halamshiral is but a symbol of what your people are really looking for, _vhenan._ The place itself is less important than what it represents.”

Two steps towards him. “You say, we could just build ourselves a home elsewhere?”

“Provided you have taken the steps necessary to achieve it, yes.” They bowed, took one step back. His hand, again, was resting lightly at her back. She was all too aware of it, but it was not unpleasant. She almost hoped he would his grip would tighten … “What is home to you, _vhenan_? A place or rather a feeling?”

“Good question.” They turned around each other, shoulders brushing, his hand still at her back and fingers intertwined with hers. She almost stepped onto the seam of her dress, but he held her upright and kept moving. “I think … home is where I feel safe, and loved.”

Right now, she felt at home. Even the stupid _shemlen_ dance didn’t seem so awful anymore.

“Halamshiral is not my home. I don’t even know it.” Two steps forward.

“True. Yet you can still value it. A symbol is not without its worth.” They bowed.

“But it’s good to know where my home is. ‘ _Ma vhenan ame na’in._ ” Two steps to the side, away from each other.

“As is mine. And I wish you luck at the Winter Palace. I assume you wish to take someone skilled in the Game with you.”

“I need people whom I can trust, Solas.” She spun around. Two steps towards him. “I already asked Dorian to accompany me. And Cole.”

“Cole? An interesting choice.” They bowed. “I assume he will stay invisible, which leaves you with two invitations.”

“Cole has unique insight. If I need to play the game …” One step back.

“I do not object.” His fingers intertwined with hers again, and they circled around each other. His hand resting at her back felt like homecoming, and she caught herself leaning slightly against his touch. This dance was far too distant. She almost wished he would help her practice pair dancing … She would ask him later. “I understand your reasoning. A card not revealed is what might decide between loss and victory. For whom are the last two invitations reserved?”

“As I said, I need people whom I can trust. I don’t trust Vivienne and I can’t rely on Sera, so … I chose Cassandra for the third invitation.” They had again resumed their starting positions, but Siryn did not move away from him. Half of Skyhold already know of the two of them … There was no harm in showing what he meant to her. And even if, she didn’t care anymore. “She is nobility, I doubt the Orlesian court would object. Cassandra and I, we don’t always get along, but I trust her.” Siryn shrugged. “The last invitation is for you.”

“Inviting an elven apostate with you to the Court might not be the wisest decision”, he objected.

“I trust you, above everyone else. I can afford to make one unwise choice.” She smiled at him. “And besides, who says I’m aiming to please _Celene_?”

For a moment, Solas studied her face, a subtle smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “If you wish so, I will submit to your wish and accompany you, Siryn.”

“I do.”

She smiled in relief. She had her own plans for Halamshiral, but regardless of what she wished for … It was good to know that he would be at her side. The Ball frightened her more than the Siege of Adamant had. She wasn’t well versed at politics and pretty sure that a Dalish elf at the Winter Palace, maybe the first since ages, would create a scandal. If she failed there … Her previous victory at Adamant would mean nothing. And it was much more at stake than just that.

“And thank you. The dancing … Didn’t expect it go so well.”

Solas’s lips twitched into a little smile. “You were overthinking it. It is a problem I am quite familiar with. _Ara melava son’ganem._ ”

“Then … you’re willing to aid me with a pair dance tomorrow? I still have a lot of work to do.”

“I would be, yes.”

“Good.”

The Winter Palace didn’t seem so frightening anymore. And as long as he was with her, Halamshiral would be home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of elvhen phrases:
> 
> 'Ma vhenan ame na'in. - My home is within you. (In this context, vhenan means "home", not "heart".)  
> Ara melava son'ganem. - My time is well-spent. (courtesy of fenxshirals project elvhen). An archaic and intimate way to say "You're welcome".


End file.
